The Renegade's Path
by James Stone
Summary: For the first time since the creation of the League, a new Grand General rises to rule Noxus. With full support from the League, and with plans as dark as a rose, Jericho Swain rules unoposed. But does he really? From the shadows, a figure forgotten by all rises to fight for all he holds dear, and to avenge those who no longer can. Does redemption awaits at the end of the path?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there. Wow, not really sure what to say. The Renegade's Path is my first fanfiction, a story which I plan to expand A LOT if the reaction is positive.**

** This first chapter will serve only to introduce the main character, Marcus Du Couteau, father of Katarina and Cassiopeia Du Couteau, former General and second-in-command of Grand General Darkwill, the previous ruler of Noxus, I always found his character to be one of mistery and intrigue, and one day I decided to make a judgement about him if he was to be a champion in the League of Legends. I got excited about the character enough that that judgement turned into a lot more, and this first chapter is the adaptation of said judgement. This story is to be as lore-friendly as possible, and there will be many references to events already established by official LoL lore, so pay attention, summoner! :D**

**Althought this seems like a lot to commit for a first timer, I want to take you into a journey, one that will explore what being a Noxian truly means. Do you accept my invitation?**

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profitable story. All characters and locations belong to Riot Games.**

Chapter I

First steps

A hooded figure walked through the Institute, his footsteps echoing through the filled corridors. The hood was a necessary step to hide his identity, as he did not want to reveal his presence too soon, not before the League would accept him as a champion. He could not afford to blow years of work and plotting just because some hotheaded moron wanted to get vengeance.  
Suspicious looks fell upon him as he followed the path to the inner halls. His sword lied in his belt, and his vestments reflected the image of a renegade, a warrior.

As he reaches the deepest room in the Institute, the one when champions only enter once, his vision centred in two massive doors. As he approached, he notices markings, words, famous for their mysteriousness, even if they are apparently so direct. He heard them many times, considering they are very popular through out Valoran, and the fans of the League wonder their true meaning.  
He slowly opened the doors, and as he walked towards the dark room, he could not stop but to think about those words. They echoed through his head, upsetting his thoughts.

"The true opponent lies within"

As he entered the room, the doors closed behind him, powered by a magical force. Inside, it was dark as night. The warrior stood still as he waited whatever the summoners had in mind for him.  
Suddenly, a flash of light blinded him, catching him by surprise and making him lose balance. He placed his arm in front of his eyes, trying to block the rays.  
His surprise only increased more as his nose captures a scent too familiar to him to be comfortable. The smell of trees and open fields, of pure air and clean water. The characteristically pleasant scent of nature. He could recognize it anywhere. Ionia.

He regained his balance as he watched the scenario that to this day still haunted his nightmares. He stood at the top of the hill, watching the battle between Noxian troops and the Ionians elapse. Far away, the city of Galrin, still untouched by the invaders, and he immediately recognized this dreadful scenario.

"No" – He said, out loud, not afraid of any of the high-ranking officers hearing him. He knew this entire scenario was just the League's way to judge their candidates, so he wouldn't be bothered by manners when voicing his feelings. "Don't make me watch this again"

His words were ignored, for the actions he didn't want to bear witness again unfolded before his very eyes.

Galrin was bombarded by some kind of weapon. Both Noxians and Ionians stopped battling and stood still, as they watched Noxus' long range artillery fire the bombs through the skies to land on Galrin's every corner. But there was no explosions. There was nothing for a few seconds as silence invaded the battlefield.

He remembered the surprise he felt when the barrage started. He had not ordered such weapons to be used. He had seen the cannons in action, and he disproved its usage himself. These were not the models he had seen. The lack of apparent damage to Galrin's buildings and structures only served to aggravate his inner doubts.  
However, currently, he knew perfectly well why the cannons failed to damage the buildings, and the surprise he once felt was replaced by grief, anger and sorrow as he begged one more time.

"Please… don't"

A cloud of green smoke covered the city's skies, and as the soldiers watched, paralyzed, the Noxians at awe, the Ionians in fear, the screaming began. Pain-filled screams echoed through the air, as the inhabitants closer to the city's doors ran towards them, trying to escape the venom, which infected everyone. Their attempts where met with failure, as, to their great terror, the nocive effects of the gas revealed themselves.

Their skin started to slowly melt, falling from their bodies, revealing their flesh, burning without fire and gargling as the poison ate through them. Their eyeballs started to swell and burst out of their cavities, their hands fell from the arms as the body consumed itself, and hairs fell from their head and left them bald.

Although he was very far away from this dreadful scenario, he could still somehow see them, ear their screams as they slowly died. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see it no more, but his mind reproduced the image time and time again. The screams, pleas for mercy to a higher power who never showed up, the agony of the innocent, whose torment was slow and dreadful, and the crying of the children.  
Any other man would have fallen to despair when faced with the guilt he had to live in, and to see it again happening, so vividly. But this man was not like any man. He hold himself in the conviction that as long as he lived with these visions, he would keep faithful to his quest. But seeing this event again affected him anyway.

"No. I have done many bad things in my live, things that I am not proud of. But this… barbarity, this madness. This was not by my hand."

"It wasn't, wasn't it?" – A familiar voice, yet strange in this memory, talked behind him – "You never really had the guts to do what was required, Du Couteau. Just like Darkwill." - Marcus turned to the source, but he knew who the voice belonged to before catching a glimpse of the person behind him.

"Jericho Swain." – He said, his voice betraying disgust – "I heard you are now the Grand General. That explains why that brute Darius and his arrogant brother Draven were allowed in The Institute."

"Now, now, there's no need to insult their skills, Marcus. They are the perfect specimens of the exemplar Noxian."

"What do you know about an exemplar Noxian, you monster? You played with the entire Council, you plotted the events that started this fucking war, and you hired the Zaunites who created these weapons. You smeared a stain in Noxian honor. What authority have you to speak about examples?"

"The authority of one who rules Noxus."

"Your ruling will not last, Swain. As long as I live, I'll make that my quest."

"Well, we can take care of that easily."

Du Couteau finally fell to the Master Tactician's taunts. He took his sword with lighting speed, preparing to execute a killing blow against the crippled man.  
To his great surprise, Swain blocked the strike with his cane, with unnatural swiftness. The Grand General then fired a bolt of green energy from his free hand, the ability the League nicknamed Torment.  
Du Couteau took three steps back, pain invading every part of his body. He quickly repositioned himself to counter attack Swain, launching himself against him in an attempt to strike him down. Swain responds by jumping back and dodging his strike. Du Couteau launches a knife strapped with a chain in the Grand General's direction, hitting him right in the chest. The wound is clear, and blood can be seen dripping from it. Du Couteau thought he had him, not expecting what would happen next.  
An explosion of black feathers reveals the winged beast Swain has become, ravens coming out of his body, and flying in the General's direction. Distracted by the creatures, he drops the chained knife and begins swinging his sword at the birds. As he hits them, they let no blood spill, and quickly vanish into dark smoke. The Grand General took his distraction as an opportunity, and with a movement of an hand, he used his Nevermore. A dark mark appeared below Du Couteau's feet, and, distracted by the birds, he wasn't fast enough to leave before mystical talons erupted from the ground, snaring the general in place. He assumed the best defensive position he could, but for his great surprise, Swain did not attack. When Du Couteau looked at him, he was back again in his human form. But what the Noxian Renegade found stranger wasn't that. It was his eyes. They were no longer the blood red, they were now dark green.

"Why do you want to join the League, Marcus Du Couteau?" – Swain asked.

"To fix the evil you've done, to show everyone your true colours, and to restore the Noxian honor. Valoran will eventually know the truth, I will find proofs to confirm my findings. And when I do, I swear to you, Jericho Swain, that I will personally kill you"

"How does it feel, exposing your mind?"

In a blink, every thing was gone. Ionia, Swain, Du Couteau's own wounds. There was only darkness. Seconds later, which felt like hours, the doors of the Inner Hall opened.  
Du Couteau wondered what others thought after being through this process. Having their minds probed by magicians of great power, reliving their darkest moments, while giving their most well kept secrets to complete strangers. For him, the process only served to strenghtn his resolve. He will restore Noxus to its former glory, he will stop Swain from corrupting his beloved city. And he will get his revenge.

**This first chapter is small compared to the one which will follow. I'd love to see some reviews, because considering this is my first fanfic, I have no idea whatsoever of what I am doing wrong/right. **

**Hope you apreciate my story, and I promise you the best is yet to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

**Bitter memories and new ways**

As Marcus exited the chamber, his attention was awaken by a summoner approaching him. He recognized the old man, sprouting a small white beard, mark of the passage of time.

After double checking to see if they were alone, and confirming it, the man spoke - "So, we finally meet again, old friend. Last time I saw you, you weren't walking around with rags"

"Ironic. Last time I saw you, you _were _running around in rags, hooded rags at that. You didn't mention in your letters that you were promoted to a senior summoner Ysmir." – Du Couteau wittily replied.

"I see you've done your homework. But enough with the small talk, let's go."

Du Couteau took Ysmir's side, and they started to walk towards the Institute's central halls.

The bleak dark corridors of the Testing Chamber were replaced by a much more cheering color scheme. Banners of Demacia, Noxus, Piltover and Zaun, the affiliated cities of the Institute, hanged proudly in the walls, symbolizing the union and the ever lasting peace, which gave a strong contrast with the reality of the situation.

"Let's cut the formalities and the chit chat" – _Now he´s talking my language _Du Couteau thought. – "What have you found about Swain?"

A clear twist of disgust dominated Marcus' face, when that name was mentioned – "I infiltrated the Black Rose for a while, just for long enough to raid their files."

"Risky, considering their fame. What did they reveal?"

"Exactly what I suspected. Swain hired the Zaunites in my back for their chemicals, and he ordered the deployment of the long range artillery." He made a pause, lowering his head in suffering "And he ordered the assassination of my wife. He specified the assassination in such a way to make it look like Ionians. In the end, he located the "intel" which revealed that it was the Ionian government that send them."

"Can they be used to incriminate Swain?"

"No. The Black Rose files are magically enchanted to self destruct the moment they are taken away from the archive."

"I see. So what happened next?"

"I confronted him. Had to fight for my life to get out of the Black Rose chambers. Got this as a nice reminder" He pointed to his face, to the gigantic scar in his left cheek .

"But now you are here, and a champion in the League at that. As you requested, no one else knows who you are, besides the Summoner Council. The other champions know a new guy arrived, but that's the last of that."

"So what do I do now?" Du Couteau knew the plan, of course. Be closer to Swain, search for evidences to clear his name, and keep as low profile as he could. And even if Swain knows who Marcus is, he can't do it without revealing his connection to the Black Rose. But now that he was finally here, he was completely and totally lost.

"Well, now I must give you the indications and tell you the Champion's Code. Unfortunate formalities, but necessary."

"Very well. I've learned before that there's no way to escape you when you need to do something."

Although Du Couteau was right next to Ysmir, his mind drifted away with thoughts of the past. Not for disrespect of the summoner next to him, of course. Ysmir was one of Du Couteau's oldest, and probably only, friend. A Noxian just like him, with noble blood, Ysmir always dreamt to be a summoner. He was always talented in the ways of magic, and it was not uncommon for the pair to do shenanigans thanks to it when they were teens. In retrospective, it was very weird for such different people to be best friends. One a military man at heart, the other a neutral magician, not interested in the politics behind Noxus, with different dreams, personalities and ways of being. But maybe that's what made them such a good pair. They were constantly challenging each other, and making their lives more interesting in the process. And in the end, Marcus knew that he was the only one in which he could trust. He was even the best man at his wedding with Lilith. But now what was before a jovial friendship is now a bound of blood, an alliance to face something none of them can face alone. And one thing the men have in common, is that both agree it must be stopped. The rise of the Black Rose.

Du Couteau always knew about this organization. As the Grand General's second in command, he was very well informed. Only in the past years he has realized that they are a powerful force. Not that Ysmir hasn't been telling him that for ages.

"…And no champion is to enter in combat with one another, or pry into the other's privacy…" Ysmir got Marcus' attention with that one. He already had violated that rule when he infiltrated the Black Rose. It was only for a few months, but for Du Couteau, it was like decades.

He remembers the first time he entered the Black Rose chambers. It wasn't exactly easy to find, fame to the organization being true, but it wasn't very difficult to contact once it was found out. A letter to the now League champion LeBlanc was all it took.

He remembers sitting in the hall, eavesdropping the Deciever and Swain talking.

"General Du Couteau is here to see you, Matron." A porter announced to the pair

"Send him up" the porter then called Du Couteau from afar. He continued to hear the conversation. "Du Couteau is that vulgar General's lapdog. He will be of no use to us, Jericho"

"Perhaps you are mistaken, Deciever. He is of noble blood"

"But he is not one of us!" Marcus entered the study, pretending not to have heard anything.

"Ah, General Du Couteau. What a pleasant sight. Or do you no longer possess the title after that ordeal with Ionia?" – Swain spoke in a very sarcastic voice, barely doing an effort to hide it. Yet again, Marcus just pretended not to hear him. – "Colonel Swain. Yes, even after I have stepped away from active duty, I still am a General. But enough about me, I have more serious business to talk."

"You are very direct, General. I like that." She didn't, and Marcus knew it. She was trying to seem friendly to gain some sympathy from the General, to be exploited later. However, he decided to play with it for the time being – "So tell me, why exactly do you wish to join the Black Rose?"

"Why would any man want to join the Black Rose? Power, my dear, I want power."

"One would expect a General of the Noxian army to have all the power he could wish for." – a mocking tone was distinguishable in Swain's voice, maybe even defiance. Again, for the time being, Marcus decided to ignore it. – "I have a lot of influence in Noxus, yes. But that's not power. True power comes with knowledge. And from what I hear, no one can provide more knowledge than the Black Rose."

"You have good contacts, Du Couteau. Just tell me this. Why should we accept you in the Order?" – LeBlanc couldn't help but to smirk at her question.

"First, I managed to not only discover about the existence of your organization as also your hideout. I reckon that can't be an easy task." – This was Marcus' turn to mock the Deceiver a little, and her reaction, even if extremely well hidden, showed that he was successful. – "Second, as you said, I have good contacts. And you need someone with relations with the Noxian High Command, and even Swain doesn't have access to what I know. Third, I know too much for you to simply let me go. So you either kill me and let my influence go to waste, or you use me, as you do so well, LeBlanc."

"You do make a very good point. Your unique perks shouldn't be wasted." – LeBlanc got out of her chair and approached Marcus, circling him like a eagle watches its prey – "What do you think of this, Colonel Swain?" turning to the Master Tactician, who had chosen to remain silent for the time being – "I think General Du Couteau would make a great addition to our Order."

"Then it's settled. Marcus Du Couteau, you are now an active member of the Black Rose." With a hand gesture, LeBlanc launched a magical rune into the general, marking his clothes with the image of a blooming rose "Thank you, Deceiver. I am greatly thankful for your decision" _more than you think_.

"… the bedrooms of all champions are placed in certain wings. Noxians and Zaunites stay in the East Wing, Demacian, Piltoverians and Bandle Citizens stay in the Western Wing, and neutral champions stay in the South Wing. I got you a room there, to avoid any conflict with Noxian champions. " – Du Couteau's curiosity snapped him out of his thoughts – "What about North Wing?"

Ysmir sighed at the North Wing's reference – "That's when we house the more "special needs" champions. Anivia, Brand, Zyra, the Void Champions, any champion that might need some "extras" that can easily disturb other, more "normal" champions."

"You don't seem very fond of that area." – Marcus remarked

"It's not the area itself, it's just... Almost every day we get some sort of mess. It's either Trundle creating huge piles of snot everywhere, Brand and Anivia arguing because one of them set fire/freezed the other's bedroom, Skarner trying to impale his TV because the power went off… And not to mention when a fight breaks out. They're still rebuilding the corridors since the last time Malphite pissed off Cho'Gath. And in the end of the day, the Senior Summoners, that is, me and a few mates, have to deal with all that mess."

"Then why does the Institute put them all together, knowing this kind of shit happens?"

"Because there's nowhere else to put them, not enough room. But it's not all bad. At least they aren't causing that rattle in other, more peaceful areas."

"Seems life in the Institute is not what you expected." – Ysmir was quick to reply to Marcus' inquiry – "Don't let my rattles fool you, old friend. The work I do here is one of the most fulfilling ones anyone could ask for. I am deeply proud of being a Summoner, and I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world."

"You really haven't changed a thing since we were kids, Ysmir. I wish I could say the same" – the renegade slowed his steps, the image of the dying Ionians filling his mind. Ysmir came to a full stop upon seeing his image, and placed a hand in Marcus' shoulders, forcing him to halt.

"Do not mourn the loss of innocence, Marcus. I know that it can get hard, and I won't pretend to understand to it's full horror the burden you carry. But without it, the events set in motion would never have came to be. Without it, Noxus would forever roll in its own corruption, letting people like Swain and LeBlanc control its destiny. Don't grief for what is past. Use it to create a new future."

"Maybe I was wrong. You probably wouldn't be able to say half of that when we were kids" – the light hearted mood of Marcus' reply was a sign that the renegade had taken his words to heart.

They continued to walk silently, thinking about the words each one had said. Soon, they were at the South Wing. Du Couteau's door was a short distance from the entrance.

"This is were you're going to stay." – Ysmir opened the door to reveal Marcus' room. It was simple, having only one division and a bathroom. "The Institute promotes customization. Tell us what you want, and we can get it here, within reason. Something else you want to talk about?"

"No old friend. This has been a long day, and all I want right now is a good night's rest." – Marcus entered the room as he replied to the Summoner, eyeing the bed.

"Then I'll let you be. Your first match will be in two days, to give you time to adapt. Goodnight Marcus." – With these words, Ysmir closed the door and took his leave. Finding himself alone, Marcus Du Couteau was finally free to relax. He sat at his bed, removing the hood which served as his mask. Looking at the moon through his window, he had only one thing in his mind. _I still have a long way to go_** –**he thought, as he searched through his pocket – _but I'm here finally. Finally I have a way to fix what I have done _– taking from them a picture. It was old, having a small rip in the right corner, slightly faded. Marcus couldn't stop but to smile at the image of him, standing behind his daughters Katarina, Cassiopeia and Coraline, and at the side of Lilith, his one and only love, the mother of his children, his wife. – _they look just like their mother. I hope they can find in their hearts to forgive me, I hope… _- His thoughts were brutally interrupted as he felt a syringe piercing his neck. Whatever poison it was, it acted too fast for him to be able to turn back. The last thing Du Couteau saw was the only object he held dear from his hand into the floor. And then it was only darkness.

**_Whack! _**The blade carved right into the dummy's chest, hitting square in the center of the target. **_Whack !_** This time it the head, right between where the eyes should be. **_Shwin! _**The redhead appeared behind the dummy, slicing his neck with her dagger, the wool used to fill it flowing the floor. One would think all these moves in one target alone, especially when the League's training room was filled with them, were a bit of an overkill. However, considering that in the Fields champions were imbued with magical protection, those moves alone probably wouldn't be enough to kill anyone.

Training alone at night had become a habit of the Noxian Assassin. In fact, it was the only time when she trained, by the Council's orders. Last time she exercised her right to attend the training room with other champions present didn't end particularly well. Let's just say a certain Dauntless Vanguard had to be taken to the medical center after a blade "accidentally" hit his leg. "I don't get what the big deal is" she remembers saying to the (obviously pissed) summoners in the medical room "If we die within the Institute, we get back fine and dandy in the summoning chamber. Killing him now would save you a lot of work." That argument didn't work so well. Unknown to them, the Summoners did Katarina a favor by isolating her from other people. She trained much better when no one else was around, when it was only her and the helpless training dummies.

"I see you are enjoying yourself, Sinister Blade." – She was so lost in her own world that she didn't notice a man entering the room, an impressive feat, considering you could count with one hand the people who could do that and there would still be fingers left. – "I hear the janitors have to spend all night working after you are done with the training dummies." _Great, the only time I have to myself, and this jackass just had to appear and interrupt it. How the hell can he be so stealthy with that damned cane, anyway? _She pondered, as she stopped her savage attacks long enough to launch a disdained glare at the man in front of her. "What the fuck do you want, Swain?" **Caw! **The raven in his shoulder cawed aggressively at the assassin, as if it understood what she said.

Katarina couldn't stand nor this man, nor his damned raven. Great part of the why derived from the same reason she couldn't stand politicians either. On the battlefield, we are who we are. The people in there are at its more pure and simple form. An adversary is just that. Someone who opposes you, who's skills must be given the corresponding respect, and the penalty for failing to do this is usually death. And it was no different in an assassination mission. An assassin recognizes his target as a person, someone too important to live any longer. He must be studied, his habits memorized, his secrets known as one would remember the name of their child. And above all, he must be treated as a person. But with politics it was different. There were no people. There were only objects, pawns to be played in the game of chess that are politics. And everytime she was around the Grand General that was exactly what she felt. As a pawn, a disposable asset, one to be sacrificed at the first chance there is.

"Now, now, Katarina" – he said, in an almost mocking tone – "are those proper manners to talk to a superior officer? Besides, I come here with an offer."

This was enough to catch the redhead's attention. Swain was not one to give gifts. Now that she thought about it, she didn't think he HAD anyone to gift.

"Ok, what´s the catch? Everything comes with second intentions with you."

"There's no catch. I just thought Noxus' best assassin deserved some time out. Here, tickets for tomorrow's event." – Swain extended his hand to give the tickets to her. They had a gigantic arena drawn in them, with a bloodlike substance marking its tips with red. Katarina accepted them, more out of curiosity for what prompted their offer than anything.

"So, Draven still does his «great show», hein? One would think that the megalomaniac freak would be happy with the attention he gets from being a Champion."

"Always so mean, aren't you, Du Couteau? Although I admit that his mannerisms are… less than ideal, his service for Noxus has been exemplar."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Why don't you quit faffing around the issue and tell me why are you giving me the tickets?"

"I already told you, Sinister Blade. You deserve some time out. Besides, no Noxian will want to miss this event. There's a surprise planned, one like no other before."

"Like I give a shit."

Swain frowned at her lack of enthusiasm – "You are too rude for your own good, Du Couteau. But that's an issue to discuss some other time. For now, I'll leave you to your trainings." – The man started to turn around to exit the room. At the door, he turned his head and added "Oh, and Katarina? Take those tickets as an order". With these words, the Master Tactician left the assassin alone again.

_What the hell did he meant by "there's a surprise planned"? I don't like how this all sounds. _

Soon after Swain left, Katarina finished her training and went to her room. After all, she wouldn't want to be late for the event she had been forced to go assisting.

**The plot thickens! What will happen to Marcus? What is this big event? And why haven't I inserted Riven in here somehow? Next chapter coming SoonTM **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III - Dead Men Tell No Tales**

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"_SWAIN!" – Du Couteau rushed through the underground tunnels, blind by fury to anything else but the man. Arriving at the door of his office, Marcus kicked Swain's door, forcing it to open with the utmost brutality. The man he was looking for was right in front of him, sitting in his secretary. Du Couteau had confronted many people in his life, and he got many reactions out of them. Surprise, regret, anger… but nothing like Swain. The Master Tactician barely flinched at Marcus' entrance, and there was nothing in his face to indicate he was remorseful for the action Marcus was about to confront him with. In fact, it almost looked like was expecting it._

"_Ah, Marcus, you never fail to arrive in style. The door was unlocked though." – Swain rose from his seat, smirking as he faced the man._

"_Save me your fake formalities, you traitor. I know what you did." – Marcus was pulsating with anger, barely mustering the strength require to avoid killing the crippled man right there, right now. First, he wanted answers._

"_Indeed you do. Took you longer to discover it than I thought. Maybe you really are getting old?" – Swain kept his formal pose. It was driving Du Couteau mad. It was like he enjoyed this!_

"_That's it? No… explanation? No "I need what needed to be done" speech, no begging for forgiveness, mercy? NOTHING?" _

_As if feeding of Marcus' anger, Swain let out a small laugh, and for the first time since they met, smiled – "For one, I would expect you to be smart enough to figure why. You were weak, even in misery, even when you had nothing to lose. Your ways were endangering Noxus, so I did "what needed to be done", so to speak. As for why using your wife and not some other thing, you brought that one on yourself. Do you really think I was the only one who saw how you tainted the Noxian purity by marrying that Ionian, Lilith? The way I see it, I just took care of two worms with one stone." – Du Couteau's eyes were blood red. His mind could only think of one thing. Death. The death of Jericho Swain. – "As for your last question, I think you got it backwards…"_

_Marcus couldn't take it anymore. He hasted forwards, stopping at the desk and slamming it, fist clenched. – "What exactly are you implying, you dog? That I should be the one to ask YOU for MERCY?!" – his right arm rushed to the sword holster, ready to strike Swain down. The Master Tactician simply extended his free arm forwards, doing a stopping motion._

"_Now, now, Marcus. You don't want to make a show in front of our guests, do you?" – Du Couteau slowly turned his head towards the door, only to observe four warriors blocking it._

_Swains starts moving, taking steps around the desk. Du Couteau mimics his movements, always staring into the crippled man, just in case he tries to do something. He keeps paying attention to the guards, who stand at their place as puppets as both men do their dance, neither one failing to move as the other does. After a few moments have passed, the positions have changed. Swain is with is back turned against the door, and Du Couteau is at the far end of the room, trapped like a rat._

_Their silence is interrupted as Beatrice comes from the door, cawing as she lands on Swain's shoulder. _Guess that explains how the guards managed to get here so fast. Damn this, I should have been more careful. _Marcus dices himself for his failure. He let himself become overpowered by rage, and now there he was, a fox surrounded by the hunter's hounds._

"_That little bird of yours as proven itself quite useful, hasn't it?" – Deep contempt could be felt in Marcus' voice._

"_In more ways that you can imagine Du Couteau. Now, I think you and these gentlemen have some things to discuss." – Swain replied, as he turned around, leaving the room._

"_Wait, that's it? You got me cornered, trapped, and you're just going to leave? No big speech, no asking me to bow down and retain my honor?" – The former general was confused by this turn of events. Swain always oversaw every single operation he was in command. From complex war campaigns like the Northern Front, also known as the Barbarian Pacification Campaign, to simple routine patrols, the Tactician always personally controlled everything. And now he was just going to leave?_

"_I believe in fair chances Marcus. Now, fighting four hardened Black Rose guards __plus__ a champion of the League wouldn't be very fair would it?" – The gigantic smirk on Swain's face was the final sign something was off. The man was always five steps ahead of everyone. What exactly would he have to gain from allowing Du Couteau a chance to escape? There was no time to ponder on this question though. His mind had to be fully focused on the battle that was about to occur. – "Now, I'm afraid I must leave you do to your business. Don't be a stranger, Du Couteau." – Swain cracks a laugh as he leaves the room. As soon as he closes the door, the guards draw their swords. After a few seconds of waiting, the guards jump on Marcus. Deflecting the first blow, he…_

* * *

Marcus wakes up, breathing violently, and feeling like death itself had taken him to a field trip. His head was hurting like hell. Everything around him was dizzy.

"Oooh, what the hell happened?" He slowly got up, putting a hand on his forehead. Suddently, it all came back to him. Him alone in his room, looking at his picture, then not alone anymore… The picture! Du Couteau search frantically through his clothes, trying to find his most precious object. Then he noticed something. Those weren't his clothes. In fact, these rags he had dressed seemed oddly familiar.

"Wait… Oh shit" he remembered were he was recognizing those clothes from. It were the prison uniforms all Noxian criminals used when locked up. Looking around, his suspicious showed themselves correct.

He finds himself lying on a simple, unconfortable bed, hanged on the wall by two chains on the edges. His cell, dirty and messy, with nothing else but a toilet filling the space, was separated from the others with metal bars, rusted out but still the most durable steel from all of Valoran. He got up and placed both his hands on the bars, trying to study his surrondings. From what he could gather, all the cells around him were empty. _The prison cells are usually crowded. What the hell is going on? _A strange humming filled the air. It went on for some minutes then it stopped. Few minutes of silence and it restarted. This time, Du Couteau payed more attention, going so far to shove his head against the bars trying to approach the source of the sound. _Are those... cheerings?_

Even though his attention was prioritized by the noise, he still noticed a figure approaching his position. His vests, green and black, mass produced and with barely any noticable characteristics besides an axe and a warhammer crossing what looks to be a demon's skull, show the undeniable mark of a Noxian guard.

"Hey! Soldier!" - shouted Du Couteau to the man - "What is the meaning of this? Don't you know who I am?"

The man idly walked towards the jail cell, until he was face to face with the prisioner - "I know perfectly who you are, «general» Du Couteau. And you are late for the show." - The guard waited for three more of his mates to come up, then unlocked the cell, and by threat of sword they cuffed up Marcus' arms and legs. He barely put up any resistance, taken by the implications of it all. The cheering noise, the empty cells. Help was not an option. For the guards to know who he was but for the Institute not having found him already meant that his participation on the "show" was a surprise to the public. From where he was, there was no escape.

The guards guided him through a corridor dark as oblivion itself. Not for long though. The corridor ended with an elevation, and as they walked a bright light flooded Du Couteau's eyes. Most called it the "Death Row", for two reasons. One, as it is said, a bright light is one of the last things you see. And second, because no one who finished the walk towards the light ever returned. Alive, at least.

Their path was blocked by a spiked gate. From there, one could see what was going on the arena. Du Couteau got just in time to see a man in a dark hood lift a warhammer as far as he could, just to come down to crush some poor bastard's head into a pulpy mass. The crowd cheered as the condemned's brain matter splattered on the floor.

**AND NOW! **- a voice could be heard echoing through the entire arena. _Most likely the megaphones installed a few years before_, thought Marcus - **WE****, AT THE COLOSSEUM, HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU! **- The public was confused by these turn of events. It was the first time since the Colosseum opened that one of the "performances" wasn't announced previously - **TO JOIN US TODAY WE HAVE ONE OF THE MOST DISGRACED MEN IN THE HISTORY OF NOXUS. THE MAN WHO ABANDONED OUR NATION DURING THE IONIAN WAR. THE MAN WHO TURNED HIS BACK TO EVERYTHING NOXUS STANDS FOR. THE FIRST AND ONLY MAN EVER TO RENEGADE AN HIGH COMMAND POST. GIVE YOUR THOUGHTS TO MARCUS DU COUTEAU!**

Two of the guards held Du Couteau's both arms, and forced him to walk towards the sand covered arena. He struggled and resisted a little, but he knew there was no getting out of the guard's lock.

Some of the audience booed the man being dragged along, others grabbed whatever they had in hand to throw at him, and others were so surprised that they didn't say anything at all. But the biggest reaction was at the Royal Seats.

* * *

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, SWAIN?" - Katarina outbursted, getting up from her seat and reaching for her daggers. Cassiopeia behind her was too dumbfolded to speak, and Talon started sharpening his blade, a very angry look in his face. The guards took notice and prepared their weapons, just in case.

"This, Katarina, is the execution of a traitor." - Swain said in a monotone.

"I will rip your fucking heart right out of your goddamned chest!"

Darius, sitting besides Swain, got up and grabbed the Sinister Blade's arms at the move of an hand from the Grand General.

"You should be more kind to me. I gave you the option to see your father for the final time, after all" - this time, Swain made no effort to hide is sadistical grin, even if small.

* * *

The guards and Du Couteau arrived at the middle of the arena. In a moment, the crowd's noise came to a halt.

**AND THE HONOR OF EXECUTING THIS CRIMINAL **- the announcer resumed his speech - **THIS SCROUNDEL, THIS****... RENEGADE, GOES FOR THE ONE, THE ONLY, THE GLORIOUS... DRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ****VEN!**

The megaphones started playing some sort of music. Marcus had heard it before. It was called "The Executioner's Anthem", created especially for the man in charge of his death. _**DRAVEN!** _The crowd went crazy as the music went on, ravaging the air. Du Couteau noticed some movement in the hole in front of him. _It isn't a pit! _He thought. _It's an elevator! _**_DRAVEN!_ **As the melody echoed through the air, so did the people's shouts for the man. _**DRAVEN!**_As the elevator seemed to approach, a shadowy figure could be seen. No doubt that was **_DRAVEN!_**The crowd was getting more and more excited. Finally, the elevator got at the arena's level, and in an explosion of fireworks, the Glorious Executioner emerged. **DRAVEN!**The man took both axes from his back and made them spin at incredible velocities, before placing them again at his back and pointing to the crowd. _**DRAVEN! **_After a few more seconds, the music came to a stop.

The renegade was now face to face with the man tasked to kill him. No way to defend himself, nowhere to escape. But he knew the Executioner's motto. He saw it various times through TV while he was on the run. Draven wanted to be seen, to create a spectacle. That was his chance.

Draven walked slowly towards the ex-general, and, in a very mocking tone, made a bow, both axes still in hand - "Such a pleasure, General Du Couteau. You know, of all the criminals, thugs and prisioners of war I've ever kill, you are so far the most famous. And you'll be even more famous after Draaaaaaaaaaven does his job."

"That, is assuming you are able to do your job."

"100% killing ratio so far. I'd say it's a pretty good assumption. Hey boneheads, why don't you unchain our guest, so he can feel more confortable?" - The guards obeyed Draven, and in no time Du Couteau was released.

"Now, general, I advice you to run, your title won't stop an axe at close range to rip you a new one, and Draven never misses this close." - Draven laughs as he launches the threat.

Du Couteau quickly starts planning what to do. _If I can create enough of a distance, I can maybe climb through the walls... no, they're too high, designed to let no one escape. And even if I managed to, the guards would make short work out of me. Try to take this asshole out by surprise? No, his reflexes are far too sharp for that. There's nothing that can be done for now... except running_.

Turning his back to his would-be killer, Du Couteau ran. He knew there was no escape, and he wasn't bothering searching for one. As of right now, the renegade was developing a battle plan.

"I love this job" - Draven chuckled. In the drop of a hat, he launched an axe towards the target. A whisper was all Du Couteau heard before his upper body bowed towards the left, dodging the wicked death that would follow if the axe had hit him. The audience gasped in surprise, so rare it was seeing someone fast enough to survive Draven's juggles. One should add that it was the first time someone so old did that.

Marcus' addrenaline was through the roof. His reflexes, sharpened by decades of training, took complete control of his body, leaving his mind to consider a plan.

"Oh, oh, this's gonna be good." - In one swift movement, Draven threw a spinning axe, which curved horizontally, targeting Marcus' neck, while rushing towards his target, who now had a good headstart. A quick roll was all that kept Marcus' head connected with the rest of his body. He didn't have the chance to regain his speed before another axe flied towards him. At the last second the renegade dashed left, scratching his left arm. Althought the thrill of the hunt made sure Du Couteau didn't feel a thing, the blood trail he was leaving was a sure sign that the axe was a near miss. Du Couteau's original plan, to run until Draven was out of axes, turned to dust, as he saw the one which almost beheaded him dissapear, and a quick head turn was enough to confirm it reappeared in Draven's hand. _He's catching up to me. Every time I dodge I get slower. It's time to stop running. _In a heartbeat, the renegade changed his course, making a swift turn right, towards the closest wall.

"Oh no, you don't!" - Coming to a stop, Draven took the safety off both his hatchets, making them spin erratically. For a few microseconds which looked like minutes, Draven held their launch back just enough for the blades to reach their full velocity, lifting them as high as he could, so far that their weight was enough to almost get him off balance, forcing him to raise his right leg to compensate. With a sadistic smile on his face, Draven's momentum was released, as a mighty stomp signaled the axes' were let go. The magically imbued hatchets ravaged the sand, burrowing so deep the land beneath it was marked as the Whirlind Death passed, going straight towards Du Couteau.

Du Couteau didn't need to look at his back to know he wouldn't dodge the axes on time. Against all instincts, Marcus quickly stopped, and turned his body 90º to fit the space between both axes. As they passed towards his body, he took a quick look at the Executioner to try to predict what we would do next. To Du Couteau's surprise, Draven had a massive smile on his face, and was calmly walking to the left. His eyes quickly diverted to the axes, and has he had suspected, they were turning around, still in place, following their master. There was no angle to run out of there. In a moment of desesperation, he crouched, just enough to get an impulse. The blades kept spinning, ravaging the sand, making it fly in all directions, making Du Couteau's vision a blurry haze. They were gaining more and more speed, and kept turning to match Draven's direction, now at mere inches of Du Couteau's body. In the last second, Marcus' jumped, arching his back to avoid the axes' wicked blades. His leg muscles went rock solid, to avoid a sudden twitch which would allow the hatchets to cut them. The adrenaline spiked so high the whole ordeal felt like slow motion to Du Couteau, seconds feeling like hours. But all things come to an end, and soon enough his back, unarmed, landed on the harsh sand of the arena. The crowd, before silenced in awe for the renegade's display, now bursted in cheering for the man they before wanted dead.

Du Couteau barely had time to got up before the spinning axes returned to their owner's hands. Althought he still cracked the same smile as before, Marcus could see in his eyes something else. Jeaulosy? Rage? He couldn't tell in the split second he had, before being forced to run, with the Executioner in pursuit. He was now mere meters away from the arena's walls.

"Ahah, rookie mistake, General" - taunted Draven, shouting high enough the front row seats could hear him. - "Best chase of my career, but all chases come into an **end**!" - He emphasized his last word, as he threw the final hatchet with all the strengh he could muster. _Now! _Du Couteau jumped towards the wall, kicking it with one foot in order to be projected towards the axe. He only had one chance. Acting purely by instinct, his hand strechted and grabbed the axe's handle. The force of Marcus' impulse proved greater than the hatchet's, althought it was enough to injure his left arm a little. He landed on his feet, crouching to avoid damaging his legs, while clicking the lock-in he observed in the axe, to avoid it spinning erradically.

At this point, the crowd was wild. People were getting up from their sits to cheer the renegade, others were still lusted for blood and screamed for the Executioner's strike against the prisioner's neck. Small skirmishes lit up, but the Noxian guards made sure they were nothing more than that. The royal seats were very mixed in their occupant's reaction. Katarina was at the edge, cheering for her father. Cassiopeia's heart was beating so hard and fast, so excited yet fearful that she did nothing more than quietly sit, hoping for the best. Talon was sitting fowards, elbows supported by his legs, hands held and sustaining his face, quietly observing the outcome of the execution-now-battle. A small, rare smile could be seen if you were to watch close enough. Darius grew concerned as the old man proved to be quite the match for his brother. And Swain just sat there, emotionless as usual, studying every little bit of the battle, every detail, thinking noone knows what.

Marcus Du Couteau slowly rose from his position, swinging his new found weapon to get a hold of how it felt, how much it weighted, and how to use it best. In a few moments, he was up, and only a few meters away from the hatchet's owner.

"Impressive, Du Couteau, but I still have a few surprises up my sleeve" - Draven smirked as he stretched is left arm to the side, hand opened, as if expecting the return of something to hold. But the axe didn't move from Marcus' grip, which could be seen emanating a faint green light. Draven's surprised look was cut short by the renegade's remark - "So have I, Draven."

"So, the great General knows the secrets of runic weaponry. I must admit, I wasn't expecting that. But at least now the battle will be almost even. **Almost.**"_  
_

With these cryptic words, Draven assumed melee position, and launched himself at the general, fully prepared for his attacker's charge. Du Couteau blocked the initial blow and attempted to parry, but the Executioner intercepted his strike with a swift horizontal dodge. Draven swept the air in front of him, attempting to hit the renegade, but his jump backwards stopped him from getting his guts spilled. Quickly countering, he lunged foward, using the axe's back spikes to try to pierce his adversary's sides. The executioner answered by sidestepping right, and vertically swinging his axe in an attempt to disarm the general. He saw this and upped his weapon arm, and compensated his charge by side rolling before Draven could reposition himself. Standing now a few meters at the executioner's left, he prepared to execute a Deadly Dance, movement he created and perfected himself. He hasted towards Draven's back so fast, it was like he went invisible. He attempted to strike, but the executioner noticed his movement and turned back to deflect. Du Couteau hasted yet again, now at Draven's right. Faster than before, he swung the hatchet at the neck, but he crouched, avoiding death by inches. Hasting for the last time, Marcus was now face to face with Draven. Charging what he nicknamed "Veteran's Strike", a rapier blow famed in Noxus for being nigh-undodgable, and was ready to finish him. Time went by at a snail's pace, again, to Marcus, which was unfortunately not enough for him to realize his mistake in time. The Veteran's Strike relied on it's speed, considering it was a rapier strike. However, the axe in Du Couteau's hand was a lot heavier than a rapier, and Draven noticed it. Marcus could only watch as a smile began to crack in Draven's face, as he unlocked his axe, shaking his hand to accelerate it, and got up to match Marcus' strike. It seemed like time came to an end, like the continuum got slower and slower, to the point where it appeared to stop altogether. Then the axe's hit.

The hatchet in Du Couteau's hand was sent flying meters away from it, falling in the sand behind him. The man himself suffered no kinder consequences, as the force of the impact was so high he was sent back a few steps. Draven, used to his axes, needed no longer than half a second to recover before preparing himself for the final blow. Marcus regained his senses right before the executioner launched himself in his way, axe in hand, wanting to finish him with his hands on the handle, not by simply sending the hatchet at his throat. He wanted to feel the general's exposed veins as the blood gorbled out another defeated enemy before him. He wanted to show that no matter what, Draven was still the one to be cheered.

His arrogance could prove to be just what Marcus' needed. As Draven interrupted his step and rose his hand to finish it, Du Couteau grabbed the man's axe arm with his left hand. The spikes from the hatchet burried themselves in his arm, puncturing tissue and flesh alike. Not letting himself being overcome by the pain, he use his right to punch Draven's arm three times. The first seemed to wield to effect other than severe surprise, judging by Draven's face. The second caused severe pain, and the third was what took to get him to drop the axe. Draven returned the attack by headbutting the general, breaking his nose. Taking one step back, Du Couteau quickly dodged a punch aimed for his head, quickly parrying with one to the stomach. Draven seemingly brushed it off and elbowed Du Couteau's jaw, making the general lose vision for a few instants, afterwards he replied by striking a blow on Draven's chin, with enough force to break two fingers, and leaving the executioner stunned. He swiftly followed up by a one-two punch to his head, something which caused both men great pain. The executioner stepped back twice, knees seemingly failing, and it looked to be over. Marcus got to his level, and prepared to punch him unconcious. That was, until Draven threw sand right into Marcus' face, blinding him temporarily and forcing him to get up to clean his eyes. Draven again took the opportunity and tricked Du Couteau, making him fall flat on the ground. As fast as he could in his condition, Draven grabbed the fallen axe, got up, and placed a foot right on top of the renegade's chest. A slight "crack" was sign enough that a rib was no longer where it was supposed to be.

"That was a good fight... But in the end, Draven wins it all... with style." - The executioner's giant grin irritated Marcus more than the axe pointed at his throat ever could. - "Now, do you have any last words?"

"Fuck... you!"

"Not a very original fella, aren't ya?" - It was the end. Draven was for the third time rising his hand, ready to strike down Marcus Du Couteau, the general, the husband, the father, the widower, the war criminal, the traitor, the renegade. His trip almost over, ending in a whimper with an axe serving as the way out. The axe was about to go down...

**"ENOUGH!"**

Continuation for the Renegade's Path Chapter III

Du Couteau watched dumbfolded as Draven's moves became slower and slower, and he dropped the axe on the ground. It was like his arms weighted a thousand pounds, based on the fact the Executioner didn't manage to get them up.

The crowd talked between themselves, mostly trading surprised grunts and comments. As they did this, Du Couteau tried to locate the source of the shout, deducing it to be the royal seats. There he saw Swain yelling at a hooded figure, whom he recognized for being Ysmir. But he also saw something else. His disciple, Talon, looking at him with an inpenetrable face. His youngest daughter, Cassiopeia, with pure blissful joy filling her face. And Katarina, that, in a mix of anger and relief, stormed away into the arena's halls. _I hurt them so much. I hope I have the chance to repay them_.

He wasn't very surprised when a circlet of blue rings surronded him. Familiar with the Summoner's spell Recall, that was no doubt the way they found to bring him back. Turning his head up to the sky, he knew that his journey for redemption was only beggining.

* * *

**__**_"I want ten men always watching Du Couteau." - Grand General Swain, walking around in his office that at the Black Rose HQ, gives orders to the Rose's agents. At his back, there's the warmonger General Darius, and sitting in his chair is LeBlanc. - "If he gets out of the Institute's ressurection barrier, I want to know. If he talks or befriends someone, I want to know. If he even SNEEZES, I want to know."_

_"But, my general, Marcus Du Couteau is just one man. What can one man alone do?" - One of the spies stepped foward from formation to question Swain. In response, the man slowly walks towards the man, hands the man next to the defier his crane, and asks to evaluate his dagger, which is immediatly handed. He rotates it twice, observing every little detail of it, then shoves it down the man's stomach. As the spy's final breath threathens to leave his lungs, Swain approaches his face to his shoulder and whispers "This". _

_He takes the knife away, and watches as the spy falls to the ground, lying dead in a pool of his own blood. His comrades don't flinch nor look at him. It was like nothing had happened. Darius can't help but to smile sadistically, and Leblanc sits further back and says "I love it when the bird guts the worm."_

_"Now, if no one else has any other questions, I suggest you execute the task that has been given." - The men proceeded to leave the room, leaving the three champions alone. As the door closes, Swain couldn't contain a cackle, which soon developed to a full-on creepy laughter._

_"Grand General, if you allow, can I ask you why are you so happy?" - Asked Darius, confused by Swain's reaction - "We let Du Couteau escape. The League will most likely grow distrust for Noxus."_

_This time it was LeBlanc's time to laugh, although much less than Jericho - "Thankfully, your muscles make up for your lack of brain."_

_Darius grunted at the comment. He didn't like nor trust the Deciever or her organization. But Swain guaranteed him they would do what it took to help restore Noxus' glory, so he ran along. Fortunately, the Fields of Justice allowed him to guillotine his distrust for LeBlanc in one swift blow. _

_Swain turned to his second-in-command, now composed again - "Tell me, Darius. How do you kill a colony of ants without knowing where it is?" - Darius remained silent, not knowing if he was meant to answer or ponder. Fortunatelly, it was a retorical question, as Swain kept talking - "You could, of course, simply kill them." - He moves towards a closet, opened it, and took a box. He then proceeded to place the box on the floor, and opened it. From there, five ants appeared. "You can squash them." He crushed one with his cane. "You can bride them." - From his pocket he took a small bag, containing sugar for his tea, and took a pinch of it, throwing it to the floor. "But there will always be thousands of them hidden, their numbers increasing every day. Like parasites, they come and feed on our food, our well earned reward, and leave only diseases and filth in their path. So, we simply stand back." - He signals Darius to step back a little, and LeBlanc is already at the corner of the room, watching amused as, in her perspective, a human teached a monkey how to talk. - "Let them think they won. Then, in their ignorance, they'll return to their home, their base, where all of their kind stand." - Darius observed, and, as Swain said, as both men were no longer seen by the small creatures, they rushed towards a crack in the wall. "And finally" - Swain's hand glowed green, as magical energies were being concentrated to the point of being fatal - "When we know here they live" - Swain approached the crack and let his Torment slowly enter it "We kill them all with one swift strike"._

* * *

**Sorry for the delay in bringing chapter III online. The combination of me being back to work and this one being the biggest to date brought me a little back on my intended schedule (1/2 chapters per month). **

**If you liked it, please review and share it! If you don't, review it anyway, tell me why you didn't so that I can improve. **

**A personal thanks goes to Aurora Shadowglen, my first [and only ;(] reviewer, for giving me the trust I needed to finish this one. Wherever you are man, this one's for you. Hope you enjoy it.**


	4. Prophecy of Tales (yet) Untold

_**Mind of a madman – prophecies of tales untold**_

**translation of the great prophet's work, by Jericho Swain**

When the path of Shadows in no longer dark

When, for a nation to rise, many fall

After the innocents burn and die

When their demise is known to all

When sisters are at peace and war

When Ice no longer flows free

When fear consumes the soul

When the guardian no longer keeps

That which is the key for control

There will be no warning

There will be no last call

For the stones will crack and bleed

AND THE VOID WILL CONSUME US ALL

_-Leguinsino 1:13, Morellonomicon_

_I have taken into translating this piece, written by the "Great Master Morello", prophet of the Icathians, although I know the meaning behind the lost language. It is an unnecessary effort, but the knowledge it might bring over the lost civilization's writings can prove to be quite useful. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the massive delay, but like I explained while introducing my new story, life has its ways. I've finally got some free time, and I'll make sure September will see two chapters. For now, enjoy this one for all its worth (might not be much, but I try.)**

* * *

_The strike was easily dodged. The behemoth might be strong, but his speed pays the price for such strengh. Knowing killing the guard now would leave him vulnerable to his companions, Du Couteau opts to elbow the man's face as hard as he can, staggering him long enough for Marcus to disengage, and grab a paperweight of the desk. He slams it against the brute's head with enough force to break a normal man's skull right there, but it is clear this isn't a normal man, for he simply steps back, although stunned. The other three advance, two slowly, one of them going ahead with a dagger, eager to claim glory for himself no doubt. Arrogant. His destiny is set once he attempts to stab the Renegade. Dashing right, he grabs the attacker's arm, stopping his charge by shoving his rapier down the guard's stomach. Pain and surprise find their way into the guard's face, and the pain of his injure, no doubt fatal, is only surpassed by his shame. _

_Taking the dagger from his hand, Du Coteau executes a full body spin, puting himself at the guard's side, tracing a path to his throat. Dagger meats flesh, as the small blade burrows deep into the victim's neck. Blood filling his mouth, to the point where it can no longer be kept inside of it, he can only muster enough strengh to try to speak his last words, and failing, as his own weapon marks his fate._

_The other two watch as their comrade falls, unmoving as the man gargles in his own blood, slowly but steadily surrendering to the cold embrace of death. The brute was still recovering his senses, adn the soldiers still didn't flinch. It was not until the man's knees failed him, and his lifeless corpse fell on the floor that they launched themselves towards Du Couteau. Their looks where not of hesitation, but meticulous care. The rookie had been their lamb, the test subject of Marcus' battle style, and they planned of using the knowledge they gained for their full advantage._

_The first man swinged his sword from bot to top, which Du Couteau answered with a swift block, clashing weapons long enough for him to kick his opponent away._

_The second man wasn't going to wait around like he did before, and tried to strike down the Renegade while he was dealing with his mate. The dodge was too close for conformt, but it did manage to get the attacker vulnerable. Marcus dived to finish him off, knowing his friend was too far away to stop him. The brute, however, wasn't. _

_With the focus reversed to fight to men at once, Du Couteau failed to notice that the gigantic Black Rose agent had regained his senses, fast enough to react to his finisher move. It's impact was redirected at Marcus' sword, proving too powerful for him to handle, and the blade got knocked out of his hand. The brute's mighty foot connected to his ribcage, breaking two and sending him flying towards the ground. Du Couteau couldn't get up in time to avoid the three men moving closer to him. The brute stood left, and it didn't look like he was the one delivering the final blow. The man whose death he interrupted seemed to be the lucky bastard, cpmsoderomg je was slowly approaching with a sadistic smile in his face. _

_Marcus noticed his sword on the right, and tried to grab it before it was too late, but the third man stepped on his hand, hard, effectively ending all chances of reaching it. Little did he know he was doing exactly what Marcus wanted. _

_As his executioner was preparing to drive the blade straight through his heart, Du Couteau launched the Damocles' Dagger in his left hand towards the man stepping on him, connecting to his chest, and immediatly returning towards its source, taking something else with it._

_The man's screams were mixed with pain and surpirse, as he was pulled with the dagger to its owner coming face to face with Marcus almost immediatly. The contact didn't last long, for the blade intented for the man standing below him pierced his back, ripping through him and leaving from his chest, coming to a full stop mere inches away from Du Couteau's body. The general wastes no time and throws the body to the left, rolling on the opposite direction, as the brute slashes the ground where he once was, and his greatsword had more than enough force to cut both him and his meatshield in half. Grabbing his sowrd as he rolls, he uses his elbows to propel a jump once he gets face up, pouncing at his would-be executioner, now disarmed, his blade still in his friend's body, for he had only time to step back to avoid the brute's strikes, and stabbing him in the guts both his daggers, using his stiff body for balance. _

_He turns his head back soon enough to see the brute, now berserk with rage, throwing reckless swings in an attempt to hit him. Marcus removes his dagger from the man's belly and ducks, avoiding te horizontal slash. The injured Black Rose agent, however, isn't so lucky, and his failure detaches his top half from his bottom half. Disensitized to the gore, being covered in his opponent's blood doesn't stop Du Couteau from quickly rising and mimicking the brute's slash, slightly higher however. _

_His doesn't fail, and as the brute's head flies thorugh the room, his lifeless corpse remains motionless, and it's not until the head lands on the floor that it crumples on itself._

_With no time to heal or rest, he rushes through the door and out of the building, ignoring his pain by merit of pure adrenaline rush. He wanted to go after Swain, to make the motherfucker pay, but he was too injured and would have to go through a whole regiment of agents just like these to get him, for Swain's office was close to the entrace, and there's no doubt he went underground. Getting himself killed in the pursuit would be worthless. Swain would be left unchallenged._

_The Zaunites have a saying. Du Couteau always despised it. He built entire strategies avoiding it. But in the position he was now, he finally realized the truth in it._

_A man who fights and runs away, lives to fight another_ day.

* * *

In a blink, Du Couteau opens his eyes and gets up, tossing his blankets to the floor in the process. _Blankets_? Looking around, he realizes he lied in bed, a hospital bed, judging by the white garments he finds himself into.

"Awake so soon?" - Du Couteau turns around as he hears a soothing voice. Its source's identity isn't hard to figure out. Her goat legs, white hair, and single horn sticking out of her forehead leave no doubt that this is Soraka. - "Don't do any sudden movements, please. My blessings may be instantaneous in the fields, but here they take their time" - The Starchild approaches him, putting a hand in his chest, as if to ask him to relax. Marcus obeys the underlined request, and lays down. His eyes lose their attention on Soraka and scout the room. Nothing out of the ordinary to notice. The room gives a very Ionian vibe, but looking at the window Du Couteau can see that they're not in the peaceful country. But he knew that already. Ionia has a very particular scent, easy to miss, but marked so deep in Marcus' memories that he could notice it miles away. But he can also see some modern medical equipment, somewhat different of what the Ionians use, as they rely more in herbs and magic. Some of it Piltoveran, some Zaunite, in conjunction with the cabinet filled with medicinal plants it creates one of the most complex hospital rooms he had ever seem. No doubt was left that he was back at the Institute.

"You are Soraka, am I right?"

"Yes, in fact. What gave it away? The horn, or the legs?"

"The hair, actually. White hair on young women is typically Noxian. I know only of one Ionian who shares this trait." - Soraka can help but to smile at Marcus' remark. Putting her hand on top of him, she emanates some kind of energy, infusing him with some kind of energy, blue beams emanating from his body. After a few seconds, the renegade felt much more active than before.

"You can go now, if you wish. Your clothes are on the chair next to the door. I'll give you some space." - Before Soraka has the chance to leave, Marcus asks her to stop - "Just tell me something, before you go. You know who I am, and you know what people say I've done. Why would you help me, knowing about my past?"

"I run the infirmary here at the League, general. It's my job to assure everyone here is safe and well. That includes you, or anyone else, regardless of their origins. Although inside the limits of the Institute, dying is only temporary, I can't sit by and watch someone suffer, no matter what they have done. Otherwise, I wouldn't be any better myself."

Satisfied with the answer, Marcus gets up and sits on the bed, as Soraka opens the door to leave. But before exiting, she turns her head and adds - "Besides, I don't believe everything I hear. There's a side of you which you kept hidden from everyone, general. And, if you allow me to say, I think these recent events, although tragic, allowed that side to be left out. Listen to it." - And which these mysterious words, the Starchild leaves to tend to others in greater need.

After composing himself, and getting his (very rugged) clothes, he leaves the infirmary and exits to the corridor connecting to the hallway, quiet and empty. His thoughts were echoing back and forth the words the Starchild told him. He needed to find his daughters. Everything else was secondary. As he kept walking foward, a small buzzing sound reveals that the room it connects to does not share the same traits.

In fact, the hallway was filled with people, mostly summoners, but you could see a champion or two, some walking, some hasting, a few running, and even fewer talking with each others. So many strangers, so many new faces. Was it too much to hope for a familiar one?

"Marcus!" As if summoned by the gods themselves, Ysmir called from afar, hasting to get to the renegade. The man opens his arms and embraces his old friend, hug which was given back by Du Couteau - "Ahah, Marcus, I knew not even the Arena could put you down."

"In that case, you were surer about that than me." - The room around them felt a little less noisy, as one or two men stopped to watch the friends talk.

"I think we should do this in a more private place. We have a lot to discuss." - Ysmir signaled for Du Couteau to follow, but Du Couteau grabbed his arm, saying no. - "Sorry, but I've delayed this far too long. I need to talk to my daughters"

"I don't think that's the best course of action, Marcus" - Ysmir adviced, worried about his determination - "Cassio might be happy to see you, but Katarina is very, very angry. You know better than anyone how irrational she gets"

"I don't ask for any sympathy. I've earned none when I left. I was a wreck, and I hurt them. All I want is a chance of redeem myself." - Marcus' face reflected the sadness and regret he felt inside. Ysmir knew he couldn't stop him, so he might as well do the best he could to minimize problems. - "Ok, ok, no sense in arguing with you. Just don't act all authoritarian and all-mighty. Be the man you are being right now. Be honest with her."

The renegade stepped foward and hugged his friend again, an act which surprised the summoner. - "Thank you, old brother. In that case, I should get going."

"I'll be at your room planning things. Meet me there once you're done." - Marcus rose an eyebrow at Ysmir's relaxed attitude. - "What happened to «never go alone to the Noxian wing»?"

"Let's just say I have a pretty good feeling you'll be safe." And with these words, Ysmir left the renegade's company.

Finding himself alone, he took back his course, right through the Noxian wing. He had to admit to himself that the travel might be dangerous. Too many old grudges, too many chances to start a fight, and that's not even talking in the off chance Swain or LeBlanc were around. But the corridor was weirdly empty. The silence in there was absolute. Perfect. In other words, not natural.

"Talon. I know you're in there. Please leave the shadows."

Without a word, Talon fell from the ceiling, hidden in plain sight. - "It's good to see self-exile hasn't rustied your skills, master."

Du Couteau extended a hand and placed it on his shoulder - "My boy, that's one of the longest phrases I've heard you say. Should I take this as a good sign, or a bad one?"

"Only that I understand that you did what needed to be done." - The Blade's Shadow mustered a very small smile, but one a good viewer would not leave unchecked, such a rare sighting it was. - "You mean to talk to your daughters, am I right? Katarina, in particular."

"You've heard the conversation, hein? So I can assume you were watching me since I left the infirmary?"

"To assure your safety. Your friend seemed to concur."

"Yes, yes he did. Ysmir always worried a bit much. But back to the point." - Du Couteau signaled Talon to walk with him. - "Yes, I intend to talk to Kat. Apologize. It's all I can do after all this time."

"5 years." Talon remarked.

"Yes, indeed. I presume Ysmir told you about my mission once you talked to him?"

"Only the basics. I asked so myself. If you want to tell me, I shall listen. If not, I shall comply." - The Shadow made a small bow with his head, without breaking step.

"I'll gladly tell you. Need as many people in my side as possible. After. Where's her room?"

"Just up ahead. I don't think she has any visitors, sir." - Du Couteau stopped, surprised by his apprentice's words. Talon stopped as well and turned to the renegade, wondering why.

"You said my daughter could have visitors? That's... weird. She was always very reserved, never letting anyone in her personal space."

"Noxian military education. A lot has changed in the past few years, master. Katarina is no different. In fact, it's the first time in a long time I see her in this state."

Marcus lowered his head in regret, and took a deep breath. Was his presence so caustic to his daughter? He knew he hadn't always been the best father, but, goddamit, he knew he had given her a good education, that helped her, and given her what she wanted. Or did he truly? Maybe by the same blindness which started the war covered his eyes to what was happening right in front of him to what he held most dear. In a stroke of determination, he walked foward again, faster than before. And yet again, silence. Broken only by two words, a few feet ahead.

"Which door?"

Talon pointed to the second in their position - "That one. Good luck, master." And with these words, the Blade and the shadows became one, and he vanished once more.

Du Couteau took a deep breath. Then another. And another. There he stood, minutes which looked like hours which looked like days gaining the courage to knock on the door. What would she say? What would HE say? Would excuses be enough? She would understand of course. He did what he had to. Didn't he?

In a rush of courage, he knocked, three times, them being perfectly matched with his heartbeat.

"Who the hell is it?" Although older, his daughter's voice was something easily noticable

"It's me, Kat. Your dad." He wasn't sure what to expect. Anger? Grief? Sadness? He sure as hell didn't expect the response that came after a few seconds of silence - "And what the fuck do you want?" - Marcus decided to ignore it for the time being.

"I know I hurt you honey, but please, let me in. I can explain."

Another second of silence. Some of Marcus' concern vanished as he heard the door being unlocked. "Whatever you want, it's better be good."

Ignoring his daughter's rudeness, he walked into her room, where an angry looking Katarina sat at the desk, arms crossed and inpatient. Her room was not very different of what was to expect from her. Red courtains covering her window completely, a training dummy completely torn, a chair and a desk. What was odd was the fact that appeared to be a picture of someone in her desk, laid upside down, as if she didn't want her father to see it. Marcus ignored that too, as he wasn't looking to start any fight. But the fact remained that he still didn't knew what to say.

His daughter noticed this, and used no pleasentries. "Well, are you going to just standing there looking you have a stick up your ass or are you going to say something?" _this girl inherited too much from the Du Couteau men. She's as straight-to-the-point as I am. _

_"_I... I'm sorry for dissapearing. You have to understand sweety, I had no choice. I couldn't risk having anyone learn of my location."

Katarina scoffed, not buying what he was selling - "That's it? 4 years and that's all you can muster?! Didn't you have enough time to crap a better excuse?"

"KATARINA! Do not talk to me like that!"

"Then WHAT exactly do you want me to say!? «Daddy, daddy, I'm so happy! Pwease wuv me?» You made sure I wasn't that girl. You had to knew that what you were going to do had consequences."

"Please, I just want..."

"A second chance? Another way to hurt me? Not fucking likely. You taught me this yourself, remember? Never trust anyone who already wronged you once."

"I know what I did hurted you, but..."

"But it was for the greater good, and all that raggidy crap. Spare me the preachings, I'm not interested. Want another chance? Earn it. I'm done talking. Now, leave my room. I think Cassi is much more willing to put up with your shit than I am."

Hurt? Yes, Marcus could say he was hurt by his daughter's refusal to accept his explanations. But not dissapointed. He didn't expect anything from this meeting, it was just something he needed to do, to fully grasp what is actions did and what were the consequences. And even in her anger, Katarina did say he could earn the chance for redemption. Granted, it was supposed to be taken as a "no chance", but Du Couteau found hope in her words, as a last beacon to an almost sunken ship.

Things went much smoother with his youngest daughter. She tried to maintain a noble composture at first, but after a few minutes, she was crying in joy and hugging her father hard against her chest. Anyone else would have been disgusted by the serpentine's embrace, but Marcus was used to it, over the years. It was good to be finally close to her daughter. They discussed many things, Marcus' journey, Cassio's tales of the Institute, how things changed over the years... An hour passed, and the Du Couteau elder had to leave, but not before little Cassi promised him she would talk to Katarina. Much more relieved, Marcus left the Noxian wing and walked into his room.

Walking in the main hall, where the summoners talked and passed, he could feel eyes falling on him. The Ionian summoners, in general, glared hatefully. The Noxian's eyes were filled with contempt, mimicking the Demacians. The Zaunites and Piltoverans were neutral, and the few Yordle summoners couldn't give less of a damn._ Making friends here will be harder than milking Alistar. Hope Ysmir has a really good plan. _

Suddently, every eye on the hall turned to the South Wing entrance, and silence fell as Jax walked in, lamppost in hand, in Du Couteau's direction. Marcus' was about to draw his sword, but the Armsmaster placed his weapon on his back, signaling that he wasn't there for a fight.

"Hey, rookie." Said Jax, placing his hand on Marcus' shoulder "I saw your performance in the arena. Good stuff. Hope you're ready for some real challenge. Murder Bridge, 2 hours. Talk to your Summie, he'll know what I mean." with a laugh, Jax left Marcus behind, walking right out of the hall. Conversations soon restarted, and a very dumbstruck Du Couteau was left guessing what the hell had just happened for half a minute before giving up and returning the walk towards his room.

As he opens the door to his room, he verified that indeed, Ysmir doesn't do things half assedly.

The previously-common room was now exibithing the Du Couteau's family crest. The walls were painted green and red. A military table was now occupying the middle of the room, with maps and messages on top of it. Ysmir, so deep into his thoughts over the desk, didn't see nor hear Marcus until he was looking at the table, examining the changes. "Marcus! Finally blessing me with your presence?" - both chuckled - "So, how did it went?"

"Better than I expected, worse than I had hoped" - Marcus clear and short answer was enough of a sign he didn't want to talk about it.

"Time heals all wounds, don't worry much about it" - Ysmir got up and approached the table - "Now, I feel we must discuss your trials"

"Wait, trials? That was what Jax was talking early on?"

"Oh, I see you met the Grandsmaster at Arms. And that he challenged you to a duel. As usual."

"A duel? I thought violence between champions was completely forbidden in the League, even accounting for the fact we, you know, can't die in here"

"It's different. These duels happen inside a Field of Justice, the Howling Abyss. It's not used to anything except that and ARAMs"

"AR-what?" - Du Couteau was clearly confused at the term presented to him. Ysmir couldn't help but to chuckle.

"I thought you had been keeping up with the scene, old man."

"Well, excuse me if my time undercover and in hiding didn't give me much experience about the League's slang"

"ARAM is something we summoners do to entertain ourselves, and train with different champions. We put all the champions' names in an urn, then we take one at random and summon him, blind pick style. We don't know what the other team has, and vice versa. Then, we summon them to the Howling Abyss, which we call Murder Bridge, and we fight it out."

"So, you have an entire Field of Justice created for... shit´n´giggles, as one can say."

"More or less that. The Field itself exists to contain the magic coming from the Abyss. We got some weird readings, sometime before the Freljord cold war, and decided to set up camp there, in case something goes wrong. Without any other usage for it, we decided it would be a "recreational" field."

"And you say Jax wants to duel me? In that field? 1vs1? And that will serve as a trial?"

"Officially no. But Jax has challenged every single newblood who came into the League, and has won every single duel. To powerful mages like Xerath or Anivia, to master fighters, like Aatrox or Fiora, Jax managed to beat them all. The ways they behave during said duel allows us summoners to see how the champion behaves and plays, so unofficially it's a champion's initiation to the League."

"Ok, so in 2 hours I'm about to have my ass kicked? For all the summoners to see?" - Marcus couldn't avoid feeling a bit creeped out.

"Don't think of it as seeing, think more of it as... evaluating"

Marcus was pretty sure he saw a smirk on Ysmir, but it was gone faster than Singed. - "You just know how to make everything worse, don't you?"

"Just laying off the facts, old friend"

"Right. I was under the impression we were here to discuss strategy, not to train your standup comedy. Still needs some tinkering, by the way"

"Some chitchat is always good before a serious talk. Helps to take some weight of matters."

"Good, because matters are pretty heavy. Do we know what Swain's been up to?"

"We've been in the dark since you left the Black Rose, two years ago. He appears to have some particular interest in Freljord, and that he has some agents on Bilgewater, but besides that, we know nothing. We need contacts, allies. And armies, if we plan to overthrone the current Noxian government."

"Diplomacy was never my thing"

"Believe me, we're not going to win anyone with words. We need to find some openings, ways to prove supporting you will be the smart thing to do." - Ysmir's vision turned to the table - "Our first priority must be Freljord. They are well enough connected to Demacia to give you a good image if they support you, and not well connected enough to immediatly harbor hate against a Noxian."

Marcus scratched his head in confusion - "Why would any of the tribes even think about aligning themselves with a man who belonged to the government responsible for the Barbarian Pacification Campaign?"

"The Freljordians' image of Noxians could, at first sight, be something which made our task impossible. But there are three unique conditions which allow an alliance." - The summoner took from his pocket a small map, and unfolded it in the table. It showed Freljord to the last detail. The land mass was divided in three parts, each one representing the tribe's territory. The Winter's Claw dominated the badlands of the North, the Avarosan ruled over the flat territories, and on the ancient mountains the Frostguard planned the conquest.

"First, Lissandra has her head so deep up her own ass, she can only see her and her tribe's interests. The BPC did not affect her, so she doesn't care either way."

"How she managed to make it fit, with her giant helmet and all, will remain a mistery until the end of times" - Ysmir glared at Marcus for a few seconds, before commenting - "Now who's being the comedian-wanna-be?"

"I learned from the best. What happened to wanting to lighten the mood?"

"_Touché_" - Ysmir turned back towards the map, pointing at the badlands - "Sejuani cares only for an individual's strengh, rather than his past. Convince her of your worth in battle, and she might listen to you. Alternatively, give her a reason to fight and wage war, and you'll pratically having her eating from your hand. Finally,,," - He grabbed the map, folded it and guarded it on his pocket - "Who you are and who you are related to bring us a great advantage convincing Ashe to join."

"What do you mean by that?" - Marcus' confused expression made Ysmir regret his choice of words - "What «advantage» will I have with the Frost Queen?"

"You don't know, do you? I thought... I mean I assumed... Forget about it." - Du Couteau's frustration was visible.

"Why do I feel there's something you aren't telling me? Isn't it a little late down the road to withhold information?"

"Look, it doesn't compete me to tell you, ok? It won't have any influence in our mission."

"WHAT won't?" - Marcus was not just frustrated with Ysmir's vagueness, He was starting to get a little angry.

"Listen, you have trusted me all this long, and you have never been wronged by doing it. I ask you to do it again. I can't tell you why, but you will know soon, if everything goes right. Just forget it for now."

Marcus calmed down, and realized how much he had overreacted. This was his life-long friend, and if he said he couldn't tell whatever it was, he must have had his reasons - "Sorry, Ysmir."

"It's alright. I understand that you must be frustrated, but time will fix it." - Silence reigned during what appeared like an eternity. Du Couteau was the one to break it - "Wait, there's just one thing. If I help one of the tribes, that'll mean they get a great advantage against the other two. Assuming the Institute even allows me to tip the balances of an ongoing cold war, the tribe I support will be too weak to actually provide any assistance."

"I thought that also. The solution? Unite the tribes."

"You are proposing we, alone, do something hundreds of years of permanent warfare and an entire military campaign couldn't?"

"I'm proposing we give them a reason to fight with us, and not with eachother."

"And you want Jericho to be that reason?"

"We know he has plans for the Freljord, and who knows what he can do now that he is Grand General. We can use that to convince them there are bigger threats to their way of life than eachother."

"If that's the case, why not just tell the Institute?"

Ysmir turned his back on the table, crossing his hands as he walked towards the window. The sky was filled with stars, each one brighting the night with their glow. After some hesitation, Ysmir shared his concerns. - "I fear the Institute might be corrupted. I mean, someone was able to infiltrate the most secure place in Valoran and kidnap a champion-to-be, and there's no clues? No evidence that might help find who did it? There's no way they bought the lie Noxus gave, about finding you at their gates, like a little gift. They knew somehow you were here, and that you still weren't a full champion of the League. They knew they could still get to you, were you where, and when to strike. Some members of the Council might be in on it, or they might not be, I can't be sure. What I can be sure is that we can't take any more risks."

"I understand. With that in mind, what can I do to unite the Freljord?"

"Right now? Nothing. I'll keep you updated if an oppurtunity arrises. Until then, get used to this place, because you might be here for a long time."

Leaving the room, Du Couteau calmly walked towards the summoning platform. Oh, the summoners would be watching?_ I'll give them the show of their life._

* * *

_Katarina lazily threw her knife up, and caught it again by it's sharp edge. Then she re-threw it and caught it by the handle. It was a mindless exercise for the trained assassin, one she could do while lied down, which was incidentally how she was right now. It helped her not to think of anything, something she desperately needed right now._

_Upon hearing a knock on the door, she catched the small blade midair and threw it against the target right in front of her, hanging on the wall. Right in the center._

_"Who the fuck is this? Don't you have someone better to piss off?" - Her attitude quickly changed upon hearing three hard knocks and two light ones, followed by a moderate punch. It was the secret code. _Their _secret code._

_"Ashe? Wait, I'll open up" - unlocking her door, she saw the familiar sight of the Frost Archer in front of her. Rushing her in, she quickly relocked it, to avoid being seen. - "What are you doing in here at this hour? You know better than me how dangerous it is! What if someone sees you getting in?"_

_"Sorry" - The archer tilted her head, stepping towards Katarina - "But considering everything that happened today, I needed to see if you're ok. I wanted to come earlier, but could only leave my duties now."_

_Katarina reciprocated the act. They were now face to face. The assassin placed her arms around the white haired woman. - "It's a big risk."_

_Ashe placed hers around Kat's shoulders. - "One I'm willing to take for you"._

_With these words they kissed, and Katarina's worries were no more, for she knew that as long as she was with Ashe, everything would be ok._


End file.
